


Disagreeable Reflections

by Eflauta



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Canon Related, M/M, Minor Deviation from Canon
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-20
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-07 00:07:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 5,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13422498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eflauta/pseuds/Eflauta
Summary: Paul Stamets doesn't fit in with the time stream, but this time Hugh Culber takes note.





	1. Bedtime Rituals

Hugh always took a little longer in the bathroom. Unlike Paul, who just brushed his teeth and went to bed, Hugh had a nice little goatee to look after, and he actually cared how he trimmed it. Paul never looked after his hair, not right before bed.

(“What’s the point?” he’d asked Hugh confidently. “If _you’re_ going to just mess it up in the morning.”)

 

Tonight was no exception. Hugh was brushing his teeth right next to Paul, after a day when they’d both managed to get the Alpha shift. It wasn’t often their schedules aligned but it also wasn’t very often his partner got himself stabbed in the sides by propulsion systems right after fucking up his own DNA.

Okay, so maybe tonight _was_ somewhat of an exception. The use of a tricorder had been added to Hugh’s bedtime ritual without even so much as a thought. After all “look after Paul” was usually somewhere up there, and today that meant “checking to see just how badly he’d endangered himself this time.”

 

_“Stop.”_

“Stop what?”

“Stop worrying. Stop _doctoring.”_

“Well, one tends to worry when they're doomed to love a brilliant but reckless maniac who's willing to risk his life for glory.”

“The captain was in danger.”

“Captains are in danger every day.”

 _“You_ were in danger.”

 

They bickered lightly like that, Hugh’s tricorder discarded for Paul’s side of the argument. He listened as he explained, and expanded on, well, his life’s work. It _had_ connected Paul to his research in ways Hugh hadn’t even imagined. But-

 

“Don’t ever do anything that stupid again.”

Paul looked over at him, surprised.

“You may not care about you but I do. You sure you feel okay?”

“Yes, dear doctor. I feel okay.”

“Okay.”

 

Paul finished brushing his teeth, leaving Hugh at the mirror to tidy up. Well, leaving Hugh at the mirror - and Paul’s reflection.

 

“Dear?” Hugh called, turning his head but not his gaze. “Are you _sure?”_

_“Yes.”_

“Because I’m not so sure your reflection agrees.”

“What?” Curiosity got the better of Paul, and he got back to the mirror just in time to see… nothing. His reflection had walked away and Hugh had the curious experience of watching his husband stare at his own absence like a Vampire.

“That’s not- Did I break the mirror?”

“No… I don’t think so. _I’m_ fine.” Hugh had picked up his tricorder again, and Paul looked annoyed but that didn’t stop him. Afterall, Paul’s _reflection_ wasn’t even looking confused yet. It had only just gotten back.

“That’s… odd.” Paul dodged his own reflection, only to watch it disobey him in the mirror. “Did I just… get stuck?” His whole reflection had paused, peering out towards them.

“It looks like it.” Hugh tried scanning the mirror for a moment, but nothing came of it. Meeting Paul’s eyes for a moment, he  
went back to scanning him directly.

“Wait,” Paul interrupted. “Wasn’t it just further behind?”

Hugh looked over and the reflection was almost caught up. It held his wary attention as Paul moved around.

“It was.” Paul concluded. “Whatever this is that’s going on, it’s not consistent.”

 

And then Paul got this gleam in his eye, and Hugh knew they weren’t getting any sleep that night.


	2. A Glance to the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On a Starship, quiet moments are rare. But Hugh takes them when he can get them.

Hugh stayed up as long as he could. In the end, they both ended up slouched against each other, asleep. Paul’s head rested more or less in Hugh’s lap, while Hugh had the misfortune of using a replicated mirror as a backboard. Somewhere in the night, he’d wrapped his arm across Paul’s chest, the gentle rise and fall reassuring.

The room was littered with mirrors of varying sizes and compositions, everything from digital to aluminum to old fashioned silver. They’d taken hours to replicate, and Paul had spent every spare moment making up experiments to test the different reactions. Nothing solid seemed to stick but they had a working theory. It was though his new DNA had disrupted his confluence with the time stream. He was moving through time like space, and when Paul wasn’t paying attention, it was as though light forgot to bounce off him the right way and got stuck somewhere reflective.

In the end, it was Hugh’s stiff neck that woke him up. Hours of sleep against unrelenting glass and an uncertain future had a way of keeping away restful sleep. He groaned and shifted against the conflict and brought one hand up to massage away the tension as he opened bleary eyes.  Paul made a small noise in his sleep when he shifted his leg, and Hugh paused to let him settle.  It wasn’t hard to catch the frown that creased his partner’s face, belying the otherwise motionless and restful slumber.  After years of just passing out on his desk at the lab, Paul could sleep anywhere. He called it an “invaluable skill.” Hugh called it irresponsible.

Still, far be it from him to interrupt his partner now.  The lieutenant needed all the sleep he could get.

It was easy for Hugh to lose himself in the soft sounds of his breathing, in the gentle reassurance that Paul was here and that he was alive. It remained to be seen just how ‘well’ and fine he actually was, but for the moment- this felt like enough.

 

They’d been through their fair share of difficult moments together. Each time a little different.

One evening, Paul had come home without eyebrows. Hugh didn’t speak to him for hours once he’d found out what had burned them off. It wasn’t some flammable fungi, or misplaced blowtorch. It was the fact that his partner had stayed in the lab a few moments too long just to get one last look at an unstable, explosive experiment. The experiment ended without conclusions, and Paul had the ill-grace to be angry about that fact, and that fact alone.

More times than Hugh could count, Paul had missed days on days of sleep and food. The worst had been when Hugh was in Med-school, when Paul was brought in to the hospital during _his_ rotation. There’s nothing quite like seeing your boyfriend passed out cold from hypoglycemia, caffeine saturation, and sleep deprivation all in one moment. The presiding Doctor had used it as a teachable moment, but all Hugh could remember was the way Paul had looked. The weak tattoo of his racing pulse fluttered against Hugh’s fingers when he took his vitals, and his pupils failed to dilate. His blood oxygen levels had dipped past 90, and with his blood pressure at 60/30 it took more than just hyposprays to revive him. Still, the good team at Starfleet medical had done exactly that. It hadn’t been the Andorian Flu or anything quite so severe. Just the daily neglect of a brilliant but reckless and forgetful genius.

 

There was another time that Paul had missed Christmas, and then bluntly reminded Hugh that he’s _Jewish._

On Rosh Hashanah, they had Challah.

On Día de Reyes, Hugh dragged him off to Mass.

 

The year after graduation had been the hardest. Hugh fought long and hard for a matching assignment, but the powers that be had little care for unofficial attachments.  Hugh’s promising career had sent him to Orion for work in xenoimmunology, while Paul’s niche focus on mycology had kept him earthside. The fungi in old growth forests had provided enough to keep his partner wickedly busy, but with every Holovid Hugh could see the building frustration in his eyes.

Astromyscology was, afterall, best done in space.

Hugh’s placement had him beyond busy. With double and triple shifts, there wasn’t time to sleep let alone to think. But when his Superior Officer had given him two weeks leave halfway through, he’d booked the first trip back to earth. Neither of them had gotten much sleep those weeks, between a weekend to see Hugh’s family in Puerto Rico, and all the time Paul took off from the lab. They’d had more fun within one day than Hugh had the whole year. By the end of the second day he couldn’t stop smiling, and by the end of the third he felt like he’d belonged there for months. There was something irresistibly natural about being around Paul Stamets.

It had taken to the end of the weekend with his family for Hugh to know that he wanted to marry this man.

 

In the end, they made it legal but only on paper. A civil union kept their Starfleet assignments aligned as often as possible, but saved them the hassle of a large, family wedding.

It was perfect.


	3. Cinnamon Roll

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even with a time displaced boyfriend, sometimes you just need coffee and breakfast.

Paul woke up with a groan.  Hugh felt it before he heard it, the tension running down and up Paul’s entire body, right to where his head lay on his thigh. It was one of the perks of being used as a pillow, knowing exactly when his partner woke up.

Gently, he carded his fingers through Paul’s hair, stroking away some of that tension. It didn’t stop the grimace that overtook his face, or the hand he brought up to scrub at his eyes. But it did help a little. Just a little.

 

“Wh-t time ‘s it?” Paul slurred as he shifted around against Hugh.

“0703.”

“We’re n’t late?”

“Nope,” Hugh smoothed Paul’s hair down again a few times, doing the very _opposite_ of messing it up. He watched as his own reflection moved against a Paul that was still squinting.

Paul groaned again, light and thin.

 

Hugh watched as he paused and saw his own reflections catching up to him, each a little delayed in the mirrors still scattered around them. It was a little disorienting, all in all, but he had a feeling that would be most of his day.

Wordlessly, Paul got up and mumbled his way to the replicator. A few button presses later and the aroma of coffee and cinnamon rolls drifted it’s way over to Hugh. Unwilling to pass up the opportunity, Hugh got up from his spot on the unrelenting floor.

“Shhh _hh, ”_ Paul shoo’d him back, and then otherwise wordlessly handed him one mug full of steaming hot coffee, and one breakfast plate.  While he went back for the rest, Hugh took his over to the small table they had in their shared quarters. Usually, they ate in the mess hall, but for a moment of peace or a moment alone, this little spot was the place.

For a little while, their breakfast was silent. Nothing more than the clink of forks against china and the deep hum of the spaceship.  Hugh watched as Paul thawed with each sip of coffee, his glances sharpening, his reactions brighter, and then when he’d finally had enough to function-

 

“So I was thinking-”

“Really?” He teased.

“Yes. - I was thinking, in engineering we have some telometers, and a chronometer or two, and there might be a way to interface the two with a visual pick up, to the main computer by the spore drive.”

“Will you need to jump?”

“God no, unless Lorca-”

“Lorca isn’t cleared for duty yet.”

“He isn’t?”

Hugh answered that with a look. “I’m not the one treating him.”

“Wait- you’re not anymore?”

“No, Dr. Hallöji was reassigned.”

“How come?”

“I called off of duty today.”

“Which is why you’re not late. … you can’t just miss work for me.”

“Can, and have.”

 

Paul frowned and ate his breakfast - It was useless to argue if Hugh had already called off.

 

“You’re not cleared either.” Hugh added, lightly.

“What do you mean?” Paul’s gaze snapped up.

“I didn’t clear you - we came back for bed and I left it until this morning.”

“But I’m fine-”

“And you want the day to do research.”

“I-” Paul stopped short for a moment. It was one of those times Hugh could almost watch his thoughts go faster than his mouth could ever hope to keep up.

“I can clear you, but… I think you should take the day off. We can bring the equipment here for you to use it.” Knowing Paul, a day confined to quarters was _not_ the ideal. He just hoped that the promise of research might soften the blow, and persuade him to take it easy.

 

For a moment he watched as Paul scrutinized him, and then aggressively broke off another piece of cinnamon roll. “You didn’t take off today.”

“I’m not lying,” Hugh countered, easily

“You took off but-...?”

“But I got reassigned.” He admitted. “Look, I didn’t tell the CMO, but she’s not stupid. She knows what you did yesterday. And, she told me to keep an eye on you.”

A scathing glare was leveled at him across folded arms.

 

“I don’t like it either-“ Hugh tried to explain.

“You love it,” Paul shot right back.

“I prefer keeping an eye on your condition.”

“My- unbelievable.” Paul stopped short, abandoning his breakfast.

 

Hugh let him go, unwilling to so much as glance at the coffee mug reflections as Paul stormed away. There wasn’t exactly far for him to go, but Hugh knew better than to say something at this point.

The clatter of mirrors followed Paul’s footsteps around their bedroom as he opened closet panels and grabbed his shoes from where they’d been flung. Hugh had guessed this might be the end result, and wasn’t exactly surprised when Paul reappeared, fully dressed from boots to combadge in regulation uniform.

 

“I’ll be in engineering if you need me.”

Hugh sipped his coffee. “There’s a lot of reflective surfaces in engineering.”

 _"Yes,_ thank you.” Paul snapped right back. “That would be the point.”

  
There was no stopping that tone of voice, it was the one reserved for difficult experiments and restrictive PIs and team leads. Having gotten rid of the latter with his promotion to CEO, Hugh hadn’t heard it in a while, but he knew what it meant. Paul Stamets would be in engineering, whether _he_ cleared it or not.


	4. Tachyometrics

Paul Stamets could not _believe_ the nerve that Hugh had sometimes. A clear dysfunction of the laws of physics was no cause to declare him unfit for duty. The fact alone that Hugh had gone over his head to consult the CMO was just icing on the cake. He wasn’t even hungry after that bit of information had come out. No, no more coffee or delicious cinnamon rolls for him. There was work to do, and he was going to do it.

It was possible that his relation to time had changed for a number of reasons - it might be anything from his literal DNA, to a rebound effect following the jump. There hadn’t been a measurable pattern per say, so it was impossible to tell if this was something that would fade. Without any kind of a constant, he wasn’t able to measure the decay or lack thereof. For all he knew it could be that in joining the mycelial network he had stepped outside of not just known space, but the known workings of time.

Or… the commonly known workings of time. Temporal displacement wasn’t without its precedent, it was just exceedingly rare.

 

The engineering bay doors opened slowly enough that Paul almost clipped the corner of his uniform on the edges as he stalked past them to his workstation. A few of his compliment of scientists glanced up, but a determined mood in the morning was common enough to be uneventful. He set two small mirrors down in a stack on the corner of his desk, and began pulling up what would become that day’s work.

He was halfway through pulling up a code that would calculate the exact delay and deviation between perceived images, both projected and that of himself, when Cadet Tilly approached him.  Gently, she cleared her throat.

“Yes. Cadet?”

“I finished the calculations that you gave me”

“And?”

“The results were inconclusive.”

“Recalculate them.”

“Yes sir.”

 

For a few moments, he had peace and relative quiet. The programs loaded, and the code began to import without complication. He drafted a list of equipment that included everything from tricorders to a telemeter. Gathering the items took him to every corner of engineering, so here was a small pile of technology on his desk by the time he noticed that there was _also_ a breakfast plate and an unfinished cinnamon roll.

A quick glance told him that the bright white uniform he saw out of the corner of his eye belonged to Hugh. He was standing just past the edge of Paul’s desk, with his tricorder hooked to his belt and his cup of coffee in hand. He watched as Hugh took a casual sip and ignored the way Paul’s knuckles turned white as he gripped the tripod he’d been about to set down.

 

“What are you doing in my lab?” Paul asked as he avoided putting the tripod half in the cinnamon roll’s icing.

“Seeing you.”

“You know _as well as I do_ that this isn’t a medical issue.”

“I _don’t_ know that for sure.”

“Temporal displacement has nothing to do with my physical health.”

“This might be an exception.”

Paul gave him a look. “Whatever you’re doing, do it somewhere else.”

“Were you planning on managing those by yourself?” Hugh asked, looking pointedly at the pile of equipment.

“Yes, hence the tripods.”

“Then let me help.” Hugh asked. “I have nowhere else to be today.”

 

Without another word, Paul stalked off to find their best Multicomplex tachyometer. It was 20 feet up and in a sealed storage compartment, so it took a good while and a tall ladder just to get it down.  It was heavy enough that he had to use antigrav to retrieve it safely, the quadrant of generators distorting the light underneath as the tachyometer containment box sank slowly to a meter off the ground. From there it hovered compliantly alongside Paul as he guided it back to his desk.

After a moment of thought, he decided to keep the antigrav system as well. It might, with it’s subtle manipulations of space and therefore time, be able to yield some useful data as well.

  
It wasn’t that he was mad with Hugh. It was just that Hugh was being absurd. Temporal displacement was not a _medical_ issue, it was much more closely related to physics. And while it might be the physics of _him_ and how he related to space and time, he wasn’t sick or insane or incapacitated. He was perfectly capable of fulfilling his duties as Chief Engineer. And given that his duties included understanding the potential and ramifications of the use of the Spore drive and navigating the mycelial network… it was kind of imperative that he show up for work.


	5. Scientific Methods

He set up the first round of experiments in the Spore Bay directly. Since the temporal delay was most likely related to either his jump through the mycelial network or his newfound DNA, Paul thought it was a good place to start. Tilly joined him halfway through after finishing her recalculations, which hadn’t taken very long. Her math had been right the first time, afterall. It wasn’t until she was standing there in the Spore Bay and did a handful of double takes at his reflection, that he’d decided to fully include her as well.

Hugh, on the otherhand, was in the way. If he was going to insist on monitoring his “condition”, he was going to be included  _ and _ useful. At least it wasn’t like Hugh was an idiot. He was one of the sharpest minds on the ship.

Paul could use his help. Even if he’d be hard pressed to admit it right then.

 

In one of this isles between forest beds, the three of them each set up a tripod, mirror, camera, and telemeter. Paul set the tachyometer between two of the mirrors. Triangulating any and all of the data would bring the most efficient and accurate results.

Once everything was set up, he sent Hugh to grab two more tachyometers, on a hunch.

 

“Oh,” Paul remarked, looking at the mirrors. “That’s funny.”

“Your reflection didn’t pause this time” Cadet Tilly remarked from where she was standing by her mirror. “...It might be because of where the mirrors are?” 

“Of course it’s where they are, but- … Back that one up a meter.” Tilly followed Paul’s direction, but his own reflection remained the same.

“Ok go as far as you can still see me.”

 

The same thing happened, even when she moved all three mirrors. His reflection appeared to be completely normal, like it hadn’t been sluggishly trailing behind him a half an hour before.

Once Hugh came back with the tachyometers, they reset the mirrors and cameras and started collecting formal data.

  
  


“Maybe it’s where  _ you _ are ,” Hugh suggested after several rounds of shuffling the mirrors around.

“Where  _ I  _ am?” 

They tried a few rounds with paul walking around between the cameras and… came back with the same results. Even the recorded data confirmed that there was no difference in Paul’s reflection whether he was a half meter or 3 meters away.

 

“Maybe it’s where  _ we _ are” Paul suggested, finally. “The first incidence was in our quarters.” 

“Let’s try back there”

“No, that’s well recorded.”

“Then let’s go somewhere else.”

“Somewhere far from here…”


	6. Data Collection

They made their way across the ship as inconspicuously as possible, with a cadre of mirrors, telemeters, tachyometers, cameras, mount clips, tripods, tricorders, phasers, and a rambling Chief of Engineering.

On Observation deck 10, Hugh, Tilly, and Paul set up the mirrors in as wide a triangle as humanly possible. They primed the cameras and angled the telemeters and placed the tachyometers and hoped that no one walked in.

“Computer, lock the doors to this room”

“Unable to comply.”

With an irritated look at the speaker system, Paul began to pace. It was simple enough to do, and less embarrassing than making faces. Hugh and Tilly observed and occasionally checked the equipment.

 

On Observation Deck 6 their triangle was larger but the delay was shorter.

In corridor C it was near nonexistent.

 

In quarters 24 S the delay was exactly as it had been the night before. There wasn’t much room  for the three of them to maneuver around, but Tilly managed to set the tripods up in the farthest corners of Hugh and Paul’s quarters.  They gathered extensive information in a fraction of the time due to the sheer number of mirrors around the room but the data all reflected what had been previously observed. Finally, out of sheer curiosity, Hugh walked into the line of sight and straight past one of Paul’s many reflections.

 

Paul stopped.

Paul’s reflection kept going.

And Hugh gave him a look.

 

“Wait, do that again.”

 

Hugh walked back.

Paul walked around him.

 

The reflections went a little haywire.

 

“Tilly,” Paul gestured for her to come into the fray. “Walk around for a bit.”

“Okay…”

 

The three of them slowly milled about for awhile, just letting the data collect itself. Occasionally, Paul would move more quickly just to get the displacement on record, but before long it was time to pack back up.

They went to the nacelles, and the shuttle bay, and the turbo lifts and even the jeffries tubes. It might have been overkill but something in Paul wanted to vindictively drag his partner into the most inconvenient of spaces.

 

It wasn’t until the third jeffries tube that Hugh cracked.

“Paul?”

“Hm?”

“We should get this data back to the lab”

“Why? The data storage is more than capable of handling _10_ more locations”

“Yes, but it’s 1400.”

“And?”

“And we haven’t had lunch”

“If you’re hungry you can go get something.”

“We can’t eat it in here”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Should I write that down?” Hugh said sarcastically. “Tilly hasn’t had any food either.”

“She’s fine.” Paul shot right back, ignoring reality for a moment.

 

The cadet looked like there was anywhere she’d rather be, absolutely anywhere, than in that discussion.

 

“If you want food. Go get it.” Paul finally told Hugh.

Hugh walked off without a word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you have the time! They always make my day :)


	7. Cookies

There were very few things that could override Hugh’s sense of concern for his loved ones. When he knew that he was needed, neither space nor vacuum could keep him away. But sometimes he needed a break. And moment away from that brilliant partner of his would do nothing but good, in this case.

With a small sigh, he got his egg salad sandwich and sat down in the mess hall. Paul’s knack for recklessness had never caught on with Hugh - he just couldn’t adjust to his partner’s occasional flagrant self-neglect. It was one thing to live on scientific progress and coffee alone, but it was another to alter your own DNA.

With his sandwich in one hand, he checked the progress and location of Cadet Tilly and Paul on his PADD. Their two communicator signals pinged along the curve of a corridor somewhere on Level 3. It looked like they’d left the jeffries tubes for somewhere more spacious, and Hugh couldn’t blame either of them. Spaces like that could be claustrophobic at the best of times.

-

With Paul’s condition stable, Hugh wasn’t _really_ needed. He’d been hovering, and he knew it. His concern for his partner was appreciated at times, but in the face of the unknown he-... well Hugh  _ had _ been trained to keep his cool. It was just a little bit harder when that crossed paths with Paul’s well-being.

-

His lunch break passed quietly. Ire faded with time and distance as he chewed over the data he’d kept on his PADD.  On the surface, it was obvious that this was a problem of physics. But Paul was usually right in more ways than one and Hugh felt he had a hunch on this. “ _ Physics  _ **_as_ ** _ biology.” _ was one of Paul’s favorite phrases. It was the simplest and quickest way he had to explain the entirety of his life’s work in 3 short words. Astromycology took his xenobiology into other dimensions, but from where Hugh sat, it looked like astromycology had brought him to the crossroads of physics and human biology as well. The latter being one of Hugh’s specialties, he felt his hunch carried some weight.

But weight is worthless if you haven’t had lunch.

So Hugh took his tray, and filled it with food. He got several sandwiches, a plate of cookies, and two travel mugs with coffee. It was technically against ship guidelines to leave the mess hall with a tray, but given his status as a doctor he found he had some leeway. He only got a  _ few _ strange looks as he walked.

-

Paul and Cadet Tilly were on the observation deck farthest from the Spore Drive. They’d manage to replicate a soccer ball somewhere along the way, and by the time that Hugh got there, they were well into a casual game of catch in front of the cameras.

Paul’s reflection was so delayed that sometimes he’d caught the ball again by the time the mirrors showed the first toss.  Hugh was caught up in watching the response time and almost missed the fact that Paul had lobbed the ball straight at him. With both hands full and a childhood in Little League soccer, it wasn’t like he was about to catch the damn thing. So he headbutted it right back at Paul, who caught it with an  _ “Omph!” _

 

Hugh interrupted their game. “I brought you food.”

Tilly looked overjoyed, but Paul replied simply. “We’re not done yet.”   
  
“Have we eaten on camera yet?” Tilly asked.

“Well, no, but I have kissed Hugh and-”

“It can’t hurt.” Hugh said, “I brought sandwiches - and your favorite cookies.”

He was within an arm’s length of Paul now, who was eyeing the cookies with suspicion. A clear bribe was never met with open arms. No, he was clearly considering whether or not he should take it - whether or not the snickerdoodles were actually  _ worth _ the capitulation.

Tilly didn’t need to be won over, and she accepted her peanut butter and jelly sandwich without complaint. Paul on the other hand, picked up the coffee first and drank a small sip in full view of the cameras. He watched his delayed reflection before putting it down. 

As he did, the look he gave Hugh was hard and inflexible; An unwillingness to lay down his arms and declare truce.  Hugh could accept that for now. 

It was a few minutes before Paul took his lunch, thoughtfully chewing the matching egg salad and rye bread while gathering extensive data. When he finished the sandwich and dusted his hands off, Hugh felt certain that Paul would reject the cookies.

He did. (But since when did they communicate in tentative gestures and offers of food?)  Paul was telling him clear as day how he felt, but it didn’t put Hugh at ease.

In fact, it put him distinctly  _ ill-at-ease _ with everything going on. 

 

“Hugh, join our game” 

Paul’s request came abruptly, snapping him out of the reverie. Gently, he set the mess hall tray down and came over.

“What are we playing?” he asked.   


“Soccer.” Paul said.   


“You’re using your hands,” he pointed out.   


_ “Space _ soccer.”

“Lieutenant Stamets thought maybe- we would be less accident prone if we tossed it” Tilly cut in.   


“Less chance of kicking out a tachyometer.” Paul explained.

“This is  _ catch.”  _  Hugh clarified.

“Then catch!” 

 

And with that, Hugh was back in the game. He sent the ball right back at Paul, who tossed it to Tilly, who tossed it to Hugh, who bounced it on his knees a few times. It was easy to forget about the stress of the day if they were just playing ball, and he wondered why they hadn’t thought of this earlier. Time passed easily as the came up with trick after trick. Tilly teased Hugh for how easily he took to  _ soccer _ but he laughed right back that he’d grown up with this stuff. It was as easy as baseball, or lacrosse was to other people.

“Oh I was never good at those.” Tilly said.

“What were you good at?” Hugh asked.

“Um,” she looked like she was trying to extract a single bead from a jar full of sand. “I was pretty good at interpretive dance.” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Paul turn in surprise as he caught the ball flawlessly. “Dance?”

“Not ballet.” She clarified.

“Any style has its challenges.” Hugh offered. Paul had been forced into ballroom dancing as a child, and although Hugh knew it, he also knew that Paul was feeling particularly private today. So other anecdotes were given, other directions for their conversation. It was easy to talk with Tilly on just about any subject. The young cadet seemed to have the gift of gab more than most and for the moment, Hugh could appreciate that.

-

After a while, he caught Paul’s eye and smiled. 

And Paul grinned back. 

Maybe things would be ok.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave a comment if you have the time! They always make my day :)


End file.
